Too Dangerous For a Lady by Jo Beverley Page B

don’t,” Mark said.
    â€œAh, my dear fellow, my apologies. It slipped my mind. They went to the guillotine.”
    â€œNot quite. My grandfather did, and others of the family, but my grandmother escaped to England with my mother after they were embroiled in violence. Even so, the shock of their experiences killed my grandmother within two years, and my mother eventually.”
    â€œOdd business, France,” Braydon said, ringing the bell for the next course. “First they fall into revolution and Terror, horrifying us and sending émigrés fleeing into Britain, and then they embrace Napoleon, terrifying us and sending our armies out to defeat him in all parts. Now they have aking again and the beau monde flocks to Paris to see the latest fashions.”
    â€œNot me,” Mark said as sliced roast beef and vegetables were laid out, steaming hot and aromatic.
    â€œNo tug to your mother’s land?” Braydon asked as they served themselves.
    â€œNone.”
    â€œWeren’t you in Paris in ’fourteen?”
    â€œOrdered there because I speak French so well. I’d look at older people in the streets and wonder if any of them had cheered my family’s deaths.”
Or dipped their fingers in their blood
, but he’d not had that image in his mind then.
    Braydon nodded. “As I said, odd. We’ve been at war with France more often than not since the Conquest and yet we can’t help but admire their style. Though I prefer plain cooking such as this.”
    â€œAnd prefer both to the Spanish,” Mark said.
    Braydon laughed. “Be fair. We rarely experienced the heights of Spanish cuisine.”
    That led safely into army nostalgia, but when the table had been cleared and they sipped the last of the wine, Braydon said, “I believe you said you joined the army in order to restore the monarchy to France. Any second thoughts?”
    â€œBecause Fat Louis lacks noble qualities? No. Any ship of state needs a stable anchor.”
    â€œAt least he’s a substantial one,” Braydon murmured, refilling their glasses. “So what noble cause absorbs you now?”
    â€œI thought you disclaimed curiosity.”
    â€œOnly that I could do so. In truth, I’m hoping you’re entangled in something where I could play a part.”
    â€œBored?”
    â€œYou always were astute. A few years ago I’d have paid a fortune for a meal like this and a peaceful bed at night. Now . . . A man needs a purpose, don’t you think?”
    â€œNo estate coming to you? Ah, no. Your father was in government, yes? Son of a younger son of an earl?”
    â€œA mere viscount, but yes, I have no estate. You, however, do. Berkshire, isn’t it?”
    â€œDo you remember the details of everyone you’ve met?”
    â€œMany of them,” Braydon said with a shrug. “It was useful at times.”
    â€œTrue enough,” Mark said, toasting him, for Beau Braydon’s retentive memory had turned a trick or two on the Peninsula. “The place is Faringay Hall, near Abingdon. I thought you’d joined the army with a career in mind.”
    â€œI did, but I found I didn’t fancy any of the likely peacetime duties and sold out. Then a childless uncle left his all to me. No estate, but a decent amount of money well invested. So here I am, comfortably situated for life.”
    â€œToo comfortably?”
    Braydon smiled. “Quite. Do say you’ve some discomfort for me.”
    Mark smiled back but shook his head. “It’s mostly very dull work and you’d never fit in.”
    â€œIf your appearance is de rigueur, then you’re certainly correct. Excuse my curiosity, but can you say how you come to be in Warrington, of all places?”
    â€œThat I can do. I was traveling from Manchester to London, but the road threatened to be in chaos because of a thousand or so Spenceans planning to march south to present